A Gift With Aspergers
by L-Lawliet-Ryuzaki13
Summary: L Lawliet, an extremely smart guy. A terrible past, of course. But just how bad was it? Was at simple as caring parents dying, or something more to it? Did he run for the hills from cruel parents? What exactly went on in his childhood? (This story was written before my awareness of the Mad Winchester Bombings.)


**This is an L centered story as well as a one-shot.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or its character. I own Blake, the cop, plot, and paramedics.**

* * *

The boy sat there, in his tree, inanimate. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to be heard. He couldn't. He knew chaos would erupt if he was found by that monster. If he was, surely another beating would follow. A beating from the guy who was titled his father. His father very own father would assail him, would put him down, would call him names, would deprive him from food and needed medication. The boy's father would even go as far as feeling him inappropriately and engage in sexual interaction with him against the poor boy's will.

The boy, L, may have been only four, but he was a very bright kid. He knew what his father, Blake, was doing is wrong. L knew that he was suffering from all the forms of abuse. He was being neglected. He was being physically, emotionally, and even sexually abused. It was appallingly horrid. Every day it began with waking up to nothing. No one would be home. Then, later in the evening, his dad would arrive home drunk. Generally, Blake would begin fondling L and pleasuring his sexual fetishes before yelling at him. Tell him he was a worthless fat pig who was a mistake. Then the beatings would come last. They came last because they were the harshest of all the abuse. Poor, dear, little L would be beat until he fell unconscious.

Silently, the young child began to let tears slip from his dark, panda-like eyes. He had to be careful as to let anyone see him cry. He was breaking a rule doing so. He was also showing weakness. The raven haired boy couldn't help but let his find wonder to his dead mother. He pondered to himself. _Would it be better or worse if mom was still alive? I suppose… since she saved my life… it would have been better… If it hadn't been for her C-section, I, or even the two of us, would be dead and in another world…_

It was then he heard the crunching of someone stepping on the packed snow that coated the ground with what seemed to be a never ending sparkling sheet of white. L's tiny body tensed. He was cold and shivering. He would have to keep his teeth from clattering so he would not be heard. It seemed nearly impossible. L could tell it was well below negative eighteen degrees Celsius (or zero degrees Fahrenheit). The boy was only in his black pajamas with cartoon pandas placed randomly all over it. Granted they were footie pajamas, however, they were actually quite thin sleep wear.

For a moment, he heard the crunching footsteps stop. A few small moments later the silent was erupted by the noise of someone's harsh upchucking. L tried not to cringe. It was dreadful to hear someone go through the much pain by vomiting. Even if it was his nasty father that he was forty-seven percent sure it was, he still felt sympathy for the person. It sounded like whoever was puking was going to puke their internal organs out themselves. After the man stopped throwing up, he spoke.

"L? Where the H-Hell are y-you?" L recognized his father's voice although it came out shakily through Blake's slow, shallow, and irregular breathing as well as slurred tone.

L stay silent as his father began stumbling towards the tree. When the four-year-old spotted his father, he knew Blake wasn't just drunk. His father's skin had a blue tinge. Something definitely wasn't right… L may have been a genius prodigy, but not even he knew what was going on. He had to find out. Even if it meant another beating, he had to solve this mystery of his.

L was about to climb down from the tree when he saw some erratic behavior bubbling out of his young father. Blake was talking to the tree. Scratch that, Blake was _flirting _with the tree. Blake soon began kissing the tree before making out with it along with some other things. After a few moments, Blake pulled away from the tree, a daddy longleg dangling from his bottom lip. He noticed and scooped it into his mouth with his tongue. L couldn't help but gag as his father swallowed the insect with a pleasured smile.

Then, while the boy gaged, he fell from the tree. As a reflex, L extended his arms out in front of him. Unfortunately, in his disgusted and panicked state, he failed to make note of the slab of ice below him. His left toothpick-like arm came in contact with the slippery solid before his right. Before he knew it, he heard a _snap_ and met the icy and snowy grounds below, his father looming above. His tried not to cry out in pain and slammed his eyelids shut, squeezing them tightly. Then the dark shadow towering above him disappeared.

He reopened his eyes to find his father lying on the ground, Blake's body jerking violently. Blake was seizing. Forgetting all about his now broken limb, L threw himself off the ground and hastily went to his father. He had to do something and he had to do it fast. His dad must have a cellular phone on him. Why wouldn't he? L caught a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. Hurriedly the scrawny boy snatched the portable phone and dialed 9-1-1. When the calm people on the line picked up, Blake's eyes had rolled into the back of his skull.

"_9-1-1, what's your emergency?_" a nonchalant voice answered.

"M-my dad," L stuttered. "He-"

L was cut off by the by the answerer. "_Please hold one moment sir_," they spoke before switching to another line.

The little child froze in his spot. He had a broken arm, and his father was most likely dying. He didn't even get a chance to state the severity of his situation before they began talking with someone else. It was very well that someone else was dying at that very moment but, was there anyone on the line that involved the well-being of someone his age? What if he fell into a state of shock or if his temperature would happen to drop to a dangerously low level? Then what? How would they feel if they let a four-year-old child and the twenty-three-year-old father die just because they put the little boy on hold?

As the seconds ticked on L noticed his brain had sent endorphins to the break in his arm. From what L could see with his pajamas still covering it, it appeared to be a greenstick fracture. _Nothing too serious_, he thought to himself. He shivered as a gust of the chilly, winter wind blew and snow began to flutter down from the sky once more. His teeth started its clattering soon after the bright, white flakes began to drift all around him.

"_Sorry for the interruption. What's the problem?_" the monotone voice returned.

"My father w-was drunk. He was t-throwing up and-and he was acting all weird. H-he just had a seizure and n-now he's unconscious. His skin's k-kind of bluish. A-and I broke my arm falling out of a tree and slipping on some ice," the young child with raggedy, coal black locks trembled.

"_How old are you?_"

"F-four."

"_Do you know the address of your location?_" the cop inquired, the doubt in his tone unevident.

"Kind of. I-it's 15433 Fleet Street in London. That's all I-I know."

"_Okay. I'll send an ambulance over. They should be arriving soon._"

"Thank-thank you."

"_I'm going to ask you to please stay on the line with me, can you do that?_"

"Yes."

It was then sharp pain began shooting through L's battered arm. To restrain from yelling he hurriedly bit his thin, bottom lip. He didn't want to cry, especially not when on the phone. Crying showed weakness and he was not weak. Not to mention the rule he broke just a few minutes prior, you cry you get hit. He didn't want to be smacked again. Granted, no one conscious was there to do so. That didn't mean someone wouldn't come to enforce the rule though.

"_Does your arm hurt a lot? Do you bone sticking out of your skin?_"

As L held his father's cell phone between his ear and shoulder so he could pull up the sleeve of his injured arm, he could hear the sirens of the ambulance not too far off in the distance. His dark orbs increased in size as he realized he had, in fact, diagnosed his arm break incorrectly. It was not a simple greenstick fracture. Rather it was an open wound fracture. There was some bone protruding from his ghastly pale skin.

"Y-yes," he sputtered attempting greatly to not let a screech escape from his small, child mouth.

It was then the ambulance pulled into his driveway. Luckily, they quickly noticed the underweight child and his father who was dying from alcohol poisoning. Rushing over speedily, two men carried a wheel-less gurney. Another placed a neck brace on Blake before the four men helped him placed him onto the gurney. The other two who had a hold of the gurney then hoist him up and transferred him into the back of the ambulance truck. The one that placed the neck brace on Blake's neck, James, being cautious due to how fragile he looked and the severed bones in the kid's arm, gingerly lifted L up and carried him to the ambulance following the others with similar objectives.

A new wave of calmness crashed over L. He could tell that this was going to change his life, effect it majorly. He was sure it was for the better, too. He would be safe now. The doctors would be able to see that his father abused him quite easily. If Blake was to survive, he'd be arrested after he was well again. L would probably end up in some foster home or orphanage but he didn't mind. Whether or not the other kids would be kind wouldn't bother him. He would still be in a place that wouldn't be as cruel if despicable at all. His childhood, his life, was just about to become livable, perhaps even enjoyable.

* * *

**Tell what you think of it, if you don't, whatever. I don't care if you flame. I'll just ignore it or make a remark, depending on my mood. If it's a kind review I might reply, once again, depends on my mood. Advice would be appreciated. By the way, I didn't read it over.**


End file.
